


be my girl (i'll be your man)

by buckymyson (trashfinity)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future fic!!!!, Introspection, Marriage Proposal, actually there are barely any for this ship, because it's always one of two things with me, because there aren't enough of these, but no actual smut, honestly i don't even know anymore, i guess??, referenced sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 19:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11539161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfinity/pseuds/buckymyson
Summary: Peter wakes slowly, eyes adjusting to the winter sun poking through the edges of the blinds. His head hurts less than expected and his mouth is more New-York-in-a-heat-wave than a snake-stuffed-with-cotton-balls-in-the-desert, so that’s nice. Spread out and half-falling off the bed beside him is MJ, hair resembling a bird’s nest and a pool of spit collecting on her pillow. She’s never looked more beautiful.-or: Peter is in love, likes to think too much, and kind of does things in the wrong order, but it all works out.





	be my girl (i'll be your man)

**Author's Note:**

> so this is not what I started out to write but I'm proud of it anyway. pretty cheesy and fluffy with a sprinkling of angst is what I always end up writing, so nothing's really changed.
> 
> just a btw, though it's stated in the fic, Peter and Michelle are both twenty in this, and Peter is still more of a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man than an Avenger. Also Civil War happened but the Cap and his team are back and free from charges because everything is perfect in my fics.
> 
> title from Perfect by Ed Sheeran because what else (honestly)
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!

Peter wakes slowly, eyes adjusting to the winter sun poking through the edges of the blinds. His head hurts less than expected and his mouth is more New-York-in-a-heat-wave than a snake-stuffed-with-cotton-balls-in-the-Sahara, so that’s nice. Spread out and half-falling off the bed beside him is MJ, hair resembling a bird’s nest and a pool of spit collecting on her pillow. She’s never looked more beautiful.

 

Despite leaving the party in a tipsy state, he remembers standing on the balcony, the cool December - January? Yeah, it was after midnight when he left the party - air sobering him up before walking the remainder of the way to his room. MJ had turned in for the night not long after the ball dropped, so Peter had been wandering around on his own and failing to remember which room was his. As it happened, he stumbled into MJ’s, purely by accident, and woke her after stubbing his toe on the bed frame. Tony had split them up for reasons unconfirmed, but it didn’t take a genius to guess he wanted to prevent any  _ shenanigans  _ between the two, despite the fact they're both legal adults who can do as they please. Peter gets it, in a way, because it would’ve been like MJ coming over with May still home. Except, in this home, “May” is in the opposite wing and two floors up, so the chances of “May” walking in on their  _ shenanigans  _ were slim to none.

 

He can’t quite remember the order of events after literally falling into bed with MJ, save for a few flashes of  _ amazing _ memories, but the disposed condom in the garbage, the clothes strewn throughout the room, and the satisfied tingling in his fingers tells him all he needs to know.

 

Last night wasn’t their first time; that title belongs to Prom, when the two bussed back to Peter’s to discover his Aunt May out for the night and that the convenience store across the street was open twenty-four hours and sold every brand of condoms imaginable. But something about last night weighs on his chest, like the morning after prom. Not in a bad way, though. The opposite, actually. It’s a . . . nice feeling. Contentment, maybe, or satisfaction or joy. Love works, but he’s loved MJ for months now, years, and that feeling never goes away. This is something different. A good different.

 

Next to him, MJ stirs, legs connecting with his shins as her head burrows further under the blankets. He lets out a sharp yelp - she has a strong kick, okay? - and reaches for the tender spot, rubbing softly. His abilities include a rapid recovery rate, so whatever bruises are left by her heels will be gone in minutes, but that doesn’t rid him of his current pain.

 

“I barely even touched you,” she mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow.

 

He pouts. “It hurt.”

 

“Get over it, you big baby.”

 

She’s snoring a minute later.

 

Peter tries to sleep, tries to close his eyes and will the dreams to come, but the pain in his shin still echoes and his eyes have begun adjusting to the light. After minutes of tossing and turning, trying and failing to find a comfortable position, he gives up on sleep and just sits, watching MJ. (It’s not creepy, he swears.) He watches the slight rise and fall of her body with every breath she breathes, the calming serenity of her face, soaking in her beauty. 

 

Not much has changed since sophomore year; only on the rare occasion will she wear makeup and put more effort into her hair than combing her fingers through the unruly curls, and Peter loves it. He loves that, with the pressures of today's Western society, she's still comfortable enough with herself to show up how she pleases. She could have just crawled out of bed or have five layers of makeup on her face and it would be precisely how she wanted. Dolled up for the Opera or dressed down for movie night at his place, she's always stunningly gorgeous. 

 

She turns towards him, allowing for a lock of hair to fall in her eyes. Peter reaches out, brushing it behind her ear. His hand caresses her cheek, gentle as a feather. Intimate moments like this remind him why he fights the good fight: he lost one person he loved to crime and he won't lose another. MJ, Aunt May, Ned - Peter would never be able to cope with their deaths. He still has trouble coping with Uncle Ben’s, some days.

 

As though she can sense his thoughts, MJ pulls Peter into her arms, rubbing a soothing hand over his back. He doesn't cry, because all of his tears were spent years before, but he lets her comfort him anyways, lets her tell him it'll be alright, lets her kiss his hurt away. It doesn't solve his problems - with what he's been through, not much really could - but she fills his heart with a strong sense of love and he starts to feel better.

 

“I love you,” he mumbles against her chest, the smooth skin above her heart. Aunt May, Ned, Uncle Ben, his parents - he loves them all and always will, but with MJ, it's different. Stronger than the love for his family, in a way, because there's the added fact of him being deeply, selfishly in love with her. Imagining a life without her at his side is . . . impossible. Peter looks to the future and sees MJ. No matter how he pictures it, MJ is there, by his side, through it all. He could come home every night in his beat-up Civic from his job as night manager at the local Wal-Mart and MJ is there. He could come home every night in a Bugatti from his coveted position as Head Researcher at Stark Industries and MJ is there.

 

Maybe they're a little young, both only twenty going on twenty-one, but Peter knows that MJ is it for him. Through awkward crushes and heartbreaking breakups, to strange dates and heart-warming make-ups, MJ has been there. They've seen other people, they've had their big breakups, they've been tested by time and distance, and still they're here, together, in this bed, holding and loving each other.

 

Once, when he was a curious ten-year-old and he’d been living with Aunt May and Uncle Ben for a year, Peter had asked his uncle about love. What it felt like, how he knew what it was, what he loved about May, how he knew May was the one, everything. 

 

His Uncle’s answer? “She's my whole world. I can't imagine life without her.”

 

Back then, Peter hadn't understood. Not really. He was ten and more concerned with the Avengers than a lifelong romance.

 

But now, he gets it. MJ is his everything, his world, his shining sun, his silver moon, his twinkling stars. Peter revolves around her like the earth around the sun, pulled in by her gravity. Life, earth, humanity - it would die without the sun. Peter is no different.

 

Beneath his head, her heart beats in her chest, a constant rhythm. Full of life. Full of hope. Full of love.

 

Quietly, so softly he's not sure if he's spoken the words aloud or in his mind, Peter says, “Marry me.”

 

She shifts slightly, sliding further down the mattress to meet Peter’s longing gaze, and presses a warm kiss to his cheek. “Yes,” she answers, just as quiet.

 

Peter smiles, drawing her in so her body is flush against his. Their lips meet in a slow, lazy kiss. No fire ignites nor do any sparks fly, but it's familiar and comforting. They don't need extravagance when they have each other. 

 

In five minutes, Tony will barge in, pointedly ignoring their lack of clothing and their sharing of a bed, and announce breakfast. In ten minutes, they'll be in the kitchen with the other Avengers, chowing down on Sam’s spectacular buttermilk pancakes while everyone keeps quiet about the obvious hickeys on their necks. In twenty minutes, Happy will catch them looking at engagement rings online. In an hour, Aunt May will call to wish them a happy new year and Peter will blurt out the news. In three hours, Tony will have ordered MJ’s ring and be signing for the delivery. In twelve hours, MJ will call Peter from her family’s house and ask how he feels about eloping. In two days, Peter will change his status to say ‘engaged'. In two weeks, MJ will officially move into his apartment. In a month, they'll be knee-deep in wedding planning, led by Aunt May and MJ’s mom. In three months, he'll be downing shots of Tequila with Ned and the Avengers for his bachelor party. In three months and a week, he'll watch the love of his life walk down the aisle in a white dress, arm linked with her father's, cheeks cramping from smiling so wide. In three months and a week, he'll be happily married.

 

But for now, he holds her close and enjoys a quiet moment with the woman he loves. 


End file.
